


Name Day

by Zedrobber



Category: War & Peace (TV 2007)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Incest, Sex, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-16
Updated: 2016-07-16
Packaged: 2018-07-24 07:18:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7499154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zedrobber/pseuds/Zedrobber
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This was written for shadow-in-the-shade, my fiancee for her birthday last year.<br/>It's shameless fluff with no plot and no context - except for one scene in the 2007 War & Peace series where Anatole gives Helene a bunch of flowers he's picked. That was literally it.</p><p>Love you Rose <3</p>
            </blockquote>





	Name Day

**Author's Note:**

  * For [shadow-in-the-shade](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=shadow-in-the-shade).



 

“Remember, I don’t want a fuss for my name day,” she told her father firmly, for the third or fourth time this week. “Please, Papa. Not this year.”

 _Not this year_ was code for _Not when Anatole is finally back for it,_ but she assumed her father wouldn’t catch on to _that_ particular thought.

He sighed, giving her that half-indulgent, half-exasperated look he’d been practising their whole lives. It irritated her no less than usual, but she had to be _nice_ and play dumb to get what she wanted sometimes, and so she flashed a beautiful smile and smoothed her dress down modestly.

“Just a dinner, then?” he asked, clearly disappointed.

 _Ugh._ “Yes- but a late one. Not a party.”

“If you insist,” he agreed, as she knew he would. He looked awkward as she gave another brilliant smile and even managed a pleased sounding giggle. “Go on.”

 

\--

 

“And you’re _sure_ he’s not going to come hunting for us?”

She nodded. “Perfectly. Not until dinner, at any rate. We have the whole afternoon.”

A sunny, exuberant grin spread over his face. “Come on, then!”

“Where _to,_ Anatole?” she groaned. “I thought we weren’t going anywhere today.” She stretched lazily across him, pouting and kissing his shoulder.

But he just laughed, chastised her gently for being so lazy, and pressed a kiss to her forehead before sitting up. “Come on,” he said again, taking her hand and kissing it before pulling at it gently. “Get dressed, Lëlya- it’s a beautiful day and a shame to waste it in bed.”

“I wasn’t wasting it,” she smiled wickedly; but she still got out of bed, unable to resist her brother’s infectious enthusiasm for life and everything in it.

They took horses at Anatole’s insistence and despite Hélène’s protests that she would smell horsey at dinner; and indeed, galloping across the grass in the warm sunshine _was_ wonderful, Anatole spurring his fine horse on until they were racing, Hélène urging her silver mare to even greater speed and finding herself laughing with him, the wind whipping the sound from her lips. Anatole whooped for the sheer joy of it all, his beautiful chestnut stallion almost flying, clods of earth churned up behind its hooves.

 _This_ was freedom- her beautiful brother beside her, matching her stride for stride, the thunder of hoof beats under her, the sound and smell of the horses, the sensation that at any moment she might take off into the bluest sky she had seen in months; and always, above all else, their laughter.

She crouched over her mare’s neck, whispering encouragement and stroking her, and with a snort and a surge of power, her horse pushed forward, overtaking Anatole’s. She flashed him a smug smile as she galloped past, Anatole grinning at her with admiration and love.

She still could barely believe he was here and whole; she had spent so long without him that she’d forgotten what it was like to feel complete-

_Not today._

Today, she was _not_ overthinking. She was going to enjoy it, the sun and Anatole and the relative privacy of trees and open grass.

 

They dismounted by a brook, and left the horses to drink, Anatole offering her his arm in a gesture so familiar that she took it before even realising. She let him lead her along the bank, a pleasant, gentle walk; the air quiet and still except for the sounds of insects busily humming by, a drowsy sort of day perfect for a stroll. When they wandered their way back to the horses, she couldn’t help feeling disappointed to think that it was over.

But Anatole just pulled open a saddlebag and produced a bottle of wine, a round, smooth loaf of bread, a wax wrapped parcel of cheese and a package of cold cut meats.

“A picnic?” she asked in delight.

“Of course,” Anatole grinned, dropping onto the grass with graceful elegance. “I haven’t eaten yet.” She sat close beside him, realising that she had not eaten either, and ate as ravenously as a well brought up young lady could be expected to; which, as it turned out, was like a perfect beast.

 

After they had devoured everything down to the last crumb and drop of wine, they lolled about in the sunshine for a while, staring at the fluffy clouds above them and playing a game they had as children. Hélène always found the best shapes in those clouds, pointing them out to his searching eyes now as she had when they were young.

The sex- although later she would suppose that it was more like lovemaking- came naturally and slowly. The air was hazy and warm, the scent of grass and wildflowers hanging around them like fine perfume, and they gravitated towards each other as they had so many times before. They didn’t need to speak; both seemed to know they were safe here, that nothing could touch them on so bright a day. His lips were soft and insistent, tasting of wine, and they undressed unhurriedly, Hélène laughing to feel the sun on her skin. She felt as though she was opening somehow, drinking in the sunlight like a bud after a long winter.

 

He still intrigued her; she had thoroughly explored his newly muscular, broader body since he had returned, amazed that this was the same lean, soft boy that had left years ago. She had traced every inch of him, fascinated and aroused, and he had done the same, kissing her new curves and her soft skin as though he had never touched her before.

But already having claimed every part of him didn’t stop her needing him now, needing to run her hands over him, his skin sun warmed and sweet smelling. He kissed her neck, her shoulders; soft, lazy kisses that had her humming in pleasure, pulling him down onto her in the grass. His eyes- the one thing he couldn’t school into a perfectly unreadable look, expressive and wicked- were focused on her with the intensity usually reserved for a lion with its prey, half-lidded and dark.

She could feel his cock, hard against her thigh, and it still thrilled Hélène that it was for _her_ , because of _her_ and how much he needed to be inside her that he got so hard every time. She curled her hand around the nape of his neck, stroking the soft hair there, and kissed him again, a strange feeling of innocence flooding her that she hadn’t felt for a long while. He grinned into the kiss, deepening it hungrily with a soft groan. She shifted her legs, wrapping them around him loosely, and lifted her hips to him. He pushed inside her languidly, slowly; the feeling of being filled perfectly- completed – overwhelming her senses. Fiercely, she concentrated on it, on that agonisingly perfect slide of their bodies together, on his breathing, short and warm against her face, and on the delicious sensation of being close enough _finally,_ only ever close enough when her brother was deep inside her, his body pressed against hers. He angled himself so that he rubbed against her perfectly with every stroke, the little bursts of pleasure unbearable and wonderful.

They fucked slowly, lazily, all the time in the world theirs to waste on a day like this, and when he spilled inside her, shuddering and murmuring “ _I love you,”_ she allowed herself to repeat it to him even though it terrified her, reached a hand between their bodies to her clit, barely needing more than a few seconds before she was following him, clinging tightly to her brother as she came.

 

He rolled off, reluctantly, after a moment of perfect bliss, and they dressed after a few more luxurious minutes of lingering in the sunshine.

“Back in a moment,” Anatole said as he finished buttoning his waistcoat, wandering off. She watched, bewildered, as he ambled here and there, now stooping, now looking around curiously, but he had gone too far to see what it was he was up to until he was already coming back triumphantly, clutching a bunch of wildflowers.

“For your name day,” he said, handing her the bouquet gallantly. “My beloved sister.”

They were gorgeous; poppies and larkspur, fireweed as well as many she had no names for, their colours chaotic and glorious. She leaned over and kissed him impulsively, laughing, and he looked pleased. “Dear brother.” She said nothing more, but hoped that the warmth of that one sentiment was clear enough, her heart quite full of love for this silly, shining brother of hers.

 

The ride back was slower, a sense of impending oppression threatening, but Anatole seemed to sense it, riding past her while pulling a face and then wheeling his horse to trot around her in annoying circles, still pulling faces, until she laughed at him despite herself.

“Stop it, Anatole.”

He smiled, smug, and fell in beside her again.

“I don’t want this dinner, she sighed. “I’m sure Papa is going to try marrying me off again. No doubt to some old fool with bad breath and three chins-“

“And that’s the worst you can think of, eh?” Anatole teased lightly.

“Of course,” she said back with a sniff of disdain, lying and they knew it. “Do shut up.”

She smiled and he returned it, and they lapsed into silence, as they did so often.

It had been, she thought as she glanced down at the flowers still clutched carefully in her hand, rather the best name day she could recall.


End file.
